


Feel your name like a ghost in my veins

by blackm00n5



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Finger Sucking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Richie Tozier is a Bottom, Scent Kink, Stanley Uris Lives, gay slurs, references to self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22059163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackm00n5/pseuds/blackm00n5
Summary: Richie sees warm eyes in his head when he needs to be loved and they're so, so familiar. So he chases after those eyes, chases after that familiarity.[AKA, Richie jacks off thinking about Eddie even when he doesn't remember him.]
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 15
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlayingChello](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/gifts).



> I hope you like it, Limoncello!! There shall be more! My lovely friends beta'd this for me.

It was far from the first bad day Richie had ever had. If he was being perfectly honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had a good day. Every single god forsaken day of his life had been some level of bad, never rising above a specific cap of happiness. For every one good thing that happened, five awful things happened. For every genuine smile, he had ten forced ones. Every joke made the people around him laugh and made Richie want to die. Every cheer from the crowd when he made some horribly offensive joke made Richie want to punch out the people who cheered the loudest. 

Richie didn’t know when he started feeling so empty. Didn’t know why. But that’s all this was, all he had been for the past handful of years. He had spent his college years doing small gigs in shitty, hipster coffee shops and open mic nights. Then two more years, after he graduated, of going around to different local clubs. Finally discovered in some shit hole of a bar and he had been ecstatic. Excited for the idea of actually doing real shows. Of people wanting to listen to him do his routines. Excited to get onto a stage and be known, be wanted. 

And that’s how it started. 

Those first few shows, hell the first year, it had been perfect. It had been amazing. People cheering for him as he went up on stage, people laughing at the things he thought of to say. The warm lights and the crackle of static from the less than stellar speakers. The laughter, the general acceptance. It had felt so good, it had filled every void in him that he couldn’t explain. 

Almost every void.

But then...things started to change. He got a manager, and it just started off as throwing a couple ‘branded’ jokes in. Things written by other people that his manager insisted would reach a wider fanbase. That his jokes were funny enough, sure, and ‘we just want to change a couple of things.’ But that snowballed quickly. From just changing ‘a couple of things’ to rewriting his entire routines until he couldn’t recognize them. 

And it was difficult to say no. To try to fight it, to tell them he wanted to do his original jokes because what if he lost it all? What if the career he wanted so badly slipped through his fingers because he told his manager no? What if every chance he ever had would go up in smoke for trying to disagree with his manager and the execs and everyone above him in his own career? So he didn’t. He sat back and watched as the one good thing he had was ripped apart and rebuilt as something he hated.

Which was what led to today’s bad day. His first show at a real theater should have been a milestone, should have made him happier than anything he had ever experienced before. He should be celebrating with an expensive bottle of wine in some rented out room in a nearby club and feeling like he was on top of the world.

Instead, he was collapsing face down on the bed in his hotel room with a bottle of cheap whiskey and feeling  _ nothing. _ Absolutely nothing and he hated it. He had always hated that emptiness. It had always scared the fuck out of him, when he would feel nothing. And that fear had lead to the excessive drinking and the drugs and the blades pressed to his own skin. A desperate attempt to feel something,  _ anything _ . Anything to make it feel like there was something in him aside from the endless, bottomless pit of  _ nothing _ . 

He sighed, turning onto his back on the overly comfortable hotel bed. He tossed his glasses onto the bedside table and lifted his head enough to knock back a few shots worth of whiskey before he placed that on the bedside table, too. It burned down his throat as he laid back down, but not in the way a good, expensive liquor would. This wasn’t a deep, comforting warmth that spread from his core out, it was a chemical burn blistering at his skin. And it wasn’t great but it was better than the nothing he had festering in his chest. 

“What the fuck, Tozier.” He grumbled out to the empty room. “None of that was fucking funny.”

There was a beat of silence, that inexplicable anticipation he always got when he made that type of comment. As if waiting for someone to tell him  _ nothing _ he said was funny with a friendly nudge and a smile that crinkled their eyes. Like he was waiting for some good natured eye roll and a teasing laugh. A pause as he waited for a positive reaction that never came. A compliment hidden in insults that made his stomach twist and turn and he didn’t understand that expectancy because there had never been someone like that, for him. It was a feeling that didn’t fit into his life, that didn’t belong. The same feeling that made him want to turn to his side to see if whoever was standing next to him found a joke as funny as he did but there was never anyone there and Richie never understood who he was  _ expecting _ to be there, in the first place. 

Richie huffed, annoyed and frustrated and  _ tired, _ and he shut his eyes. He was tired, so fucking exhausted, but he could already feel it. He wasn’t going to fall asleep, he was going to just lay there and hate the world and hate himself until his alarm rang for him to leave for his plane the next morning. His entire body was tensed up and aching and he just needed something to make him relax. And clearly, the whiskey hadn’t been doing anything to help, because he had begun drinking the moment he got off stage. 

He didn’t have any weed, so that was a no go. The only other option he really had, right then was a good, old fashioned orgasm. 

Richie sighed, reaching to undo the button on his jeans. Going out to bars or clubs never seemed to help. The women he found were beautiful, there was no denying it. Beautiful and charming and he was able to seduce them, easily enough. Sleeping with those beautiful, charming women should have felt amazing. And...well. On a physical level, it didn’t feel  _ bad _ . He was able to get through it. But the whole time he would be on the verge of a panic attack, his body too tense and unsure where to keep his hands or his eyes and trying desperately to enjoy the soft curves and painted lips. Trying to be turned on by those slender fingers and lovely breasts. 

He didn’t have it in him to try, tonight.

He didn’t want to put in that kind of effort. Didn’t want to deal with the fact that he never truly wanted to get into bed with those women, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with the bone deep terror he felt when he caught another man’s eye from across the bar. He didn’t want to convince himself it was a fluke, that the heat in his gut when a handsome man touched his shoulder or offered him a smile was just the liquor. 

He didn’t want to pretend.

And acknowledging that it was all an act, even just to himself, was difficult. It made fear and disgust and  _ shame _ bubble up and boil over in him. He was ashamed, so fucking ashamed of it. It was wrong and fucked up and he hated himself every time he caught himself lingering on another man’s smile, caught himself looking at the swell of muscle in a man’s shoulders or chest. 

He grunted - a harsh, aggressive sound. - and shoved his jeans down his hips. He kicked them off with his shoes, and rolled onto his side to reach into the bedside drawer. One thing he had noticed about these high end rooms at these high end hotels, he often found a small bottle of lube hiding in their nightstands. He wasn’t sure if it was something the hotel did, leaving these for their rich guests, or if it was those rich guests leaving the bottles behind but Richie really didn’t care. All he cared about was that his fingers were wrapping around a small bottle and he didn’t even bother to close the drawer as he tossed it onto the bed. While he was more or less sitting up, he pulled his shirt off and tossed that in the general direction of his bag before flopping back down on the bed. 

He let out a shaky breath, eyes slipping shut as his hand landed almost tentatively on his own chest. Richie’s mouth went dry, and he slowly trailed his fingers up, tracing over his own collar bone. Slow, because as frustrated as he was, he knew rushing this would only serve to leave him more stressed and less likely to get any rest. So he continued touching himself soft and slow. Fingers moving over his collar bone, up over the column of his throat, pressing gently at his Adam’s apple before moving back down. 

He kept going, pressing more firmly the further down his chest he got. And he felt his stomach churn when he realized he was enjoying the feel of a flat chest and coarse hair under his fingers just as much as he was enjoying the feeling of fingers trailing over his skin. He swallowed thickly, trying to force it back and focus on the feeling of it. He inhaled, shaky and uneven, as he brushed his index finger over a nipple, and his cock gave an interested twitch. 

Richie opened his eyes, lifting his head to look around despite knowing that, not only could he not see without his glasses, but he had also locked his door behind him and there was no possible way anyone else was in the room. He took another shaky breath, head falling heavily back into the pillows. He hesitated, then used the pad of his middle finger to circle his nipple teasingly. Experimentally. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt a tingle run down his spine all the way to his toes. Normally, when he got off, he just went right to it. Wrapped his hand around his cock and would stroke as slow or as fast as he needed until he was done. So this experimental touching was a little new for him. Not entirely, of course. He’d had women touch him, explore his chest and stomach and his back on one occasion that would have been memorable had he actually been attracted to her. 

But having his own hands touching himself, feeling his own chest, teasing at his own nipple, he wasn’t used to it. He swallowed thickly, carefully pinching at the nub and he inhaled sharply at the frankly surprising surge of pleasure that shot through him, his cock jerking against his thigh. Richie tilted his head back a little as he slowly tightened up his fingers, pinching harder and harder until he was squirming. Oh. That was a thing, then. 

He took a shaky breath, rubbing over his nipple to soothe the sting before he reached to offer the same treatment to his other nipple. He felt his cock hardening, more and more with every touch. Hot and heavy against his thigh, pulsing and twitching with every surprisingly good touch against his nipples. Switching back and forth across his chest with one hand as his other arm lifted up until he was gripping at the headboard. His hand clenched around it, tight and firm and his entire arm flexed down to his shoulder as he did it. He turned his head, all but hiding his face in his bicep as he played with his nipples. 

“Fuck,” He breathed out, barely loud enough for even him to hear. Oh shit, why had he never done this before? 

By the time he finally started moving his hand further down his chest and over his stomach, he was fully hard. His cock swollen and red at the head, curving up towards his stomach. His breathing was a little shaky, starting to grow shallow as he started on following the trail of hair on his stomach and down under his belly button. Pressing down just under his belly button, digging his fingers into the soft flesh before continuing on. Tracing the V of his hips, digging his nails into the sensitive skin under where his hip bones were jutting out slightly. 

Richie swallowed thickly, then brought his hand up to his mouth. He pressed his index and middle finger into his mouth, not exactly keen on a dry touch to his sensitive cock but not quite ready for the lube, yet. He pushed his fingers probably too far into his mouth, licking around them and sucking them much too eagerly to really be able to justify it as just getting them wet. But no one could see him, he was alone and turned on and it felt good to let out a soft moan around his fingers as he sucked on them. 

The stretch of his lips around his fingers wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to send a surge of heat through him, boiling through his veins until he was burning from the inside out. So good that his hips were rocking slowly, thrusting up into nothing as he shoved his own fingers into his mouth, thrusting them in and out like...like…

Like he was sucking a cock. 

And that thought made him  _ moan. _ Out loud, around the fingers in his mouth and his back arched off the bed. The thought was sudden. It was terrifying, it was so fucking scary and he hated it but it made his cock throb and he couldn’t do anything but thrust his fingers further into his mouth, suck on them eagerly and desperately. Whining around them, thighs trembling as he rocked his hips. 

And suddenly, there was a flash of warm, brown eyes in Richie’s head. Achingly familiar, strikingly clear despite how blurry and out of focus the rest of the face they were part of was. Almost there, like he was trying desperately to cling to the memory of a dream. But those eyes? Those eyes were so clear. Deep brown and soft and so, heart achingly warm. Adoration glowing as if they were looking at a lover. And Richie gasped, eyes snapping open and he pulled his fingers from his mouth with an obscene, wet noise. 

And the odd part was the comfort washing through him, a type of intimacy he had never felt and that was stupid because he was by himself. But those eyes had felt like they belonged to someone special, some imaginary lover who adored him and all his flaws and something about that made his cock twitch against his stomach and he nearly sobbed at the feeling.

Richie clamped his eyes shut again, as if hoping to see those eyes again. Hoping for just a glimpse of that face, praying he’d see it more clearly. It worked, in a way. An oddly familiar feeling washing over him as vague images of brown eyes and an unclear face flickered across his mind. It was enough, for now. Enough for his hips to twitch and his cock to throb, desperate for any sort of relief. He reached his spit slick fingers down, dragging them up along the underside of his cock and he let out a whiny noise. He traced around the head of his cock, trailing up over the slit and giving a shaky breath as he pressed down slightly. 

He teased at the head of his cock for another moment longer, then wrapped his hand loosely around himself. Intent on making this last. He let out a shaky breath, shallowly rocking his hips up into his hand. Slowly, he let his grip around himself tighten as he thrust into his hold, biting into his bottom lip to try and stifle his moans. 

But, the slickness from his saliva didn’t last long, and too quickly that grip fell to the wrong side of painful. He released himself, and then released the headboard. He reached blindly for that bottle of lube, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he finally found it again. He fumbled with the bottle, nearly dropping it as he tried to pop the cap open. Once he did, he could practically feel it vibrate through him, that little snapping sound far too loud in a mostly silent room. He squeezed some out onto his fingers, a harsh shudder running down his spine, and he clicked the bottle closed again.

Just like the first time, Richie trailed his slick fingers up the underside of his cock. Then, he trailed them back down. He teased at his balls, cupping them in his hand and massaging gently. Already, they were tight and drawn up towards his body and wasn’t that just a testament to how long it had been since he’d really done this? Already keyed up and overwhelmed just from some easy touching. He swallowed thickly, head tilting back as he kept going. Hand trailing further down, scratching his blunt nails gently at the sensitive skin just under his balls. 

Suddenly - or perhaps not so suddenly, all things considered - his fingers slipped a little further down and he felt his ass clenching. He felt his hole twitch and heat spike through his body as a pathetic little groan tore out of his throat. Oh. Oh, fuck, that was a thing. His hands stopped moving, and he struggled to take a breath. His free hand shot right back up to the headboard, gripping even more tightly than he had before. 

And oddly enough, those eyes popped up in his head, again. Those eyes that were so painfully familiar despite how he had no idea who they belonged to. And he could almost imagine a voice to go with them, like gripping desperately at a childhood memory that wasn’t quite there. A voice, firm and sure, whispering his name into his ear and he whined. A high pitched and pathetic sound and his hand slipped down further until he could press his index finger against his hole. 

It was...unlike anything he had ever felt before. Sensitive, and he could feel the way he twitched under his finger, tightening and clenching and he couldn’t fucking breath. His tongue felt too big in his mouth, like he couldn’t get a proper breath around it, his stomach churning with butterflies until he almost felt sick. But it felt too fucking good to say any of it was bad. He clamped his eyes shut, head tilting back. 

He carefully circled his slick finger around his rim, and he let out a pathetic, whiny noise. His thighs trembled, his legs spreading out further, all but presenting himself to the empty room. Precum beading at the tip of his cock, dripping down onto his stomach as his finger pressed and prodded at his hole. For the briefest of moments, that face in his mind was startling clear and he gasped. But as quick as it was there, it was gone and Richie wanted to sob. He wanted to see it, long enough to process, to try and figure out who the hell he was seeing. 

Before he could think about it, he was pushing. Pressing until his finger breached that ring of muscle. He was surprised by how easy it was. By how quickly and easily his finger slid into his ass. It burned, deep and harsh and so fucking good and he realized a moment too late that he hadn’t taken a proper breath in a hot minute. He inhaled sharply, back arching as he pressed his finger further into himself. Hot and tight and wet from the lube, good enough for his cock to twitch and leak onto his stomach. He moved slowly, experimentally. His finger pressing deeper into himself, clenching tight and body trembling.

“Fuck!” He gasped out, shocked and overwhelmed and how the hell did this feel so good? How had he never done this, before? He tilted his head back with a groan, then turned his head to press his face against his bicep, again. His hand was clenching so hard around the headboard that his entire arm was shaking, 

Richie bit at his bottom lip, struggling for breath as he tentatively pressed a second finger against his hole. He whined, squirming on the bed as he his finger stretched him open. It wasn’t as easy, this time. It ached and burned and while it felt good, it was still a lot to handle. 

He groaned out loud, and an odd noise left him. An abrupt sound, trying to say something but nothing actually coming out. A name, right on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t grab hold of it. He couldn’t quite get it out, couldn’t actually think of what the name is despite how badly he wanted to cry it out. He let out another sound much like a sob, and his back arched as he pushed his fingers deeper into himself.

“Fuck.” He repeated. “Fuck, fuck, holy shit.” 

Richie’s hips rolled absently, and it caused his fingers to push even further into himself and Richie cried out more loudly. He  _ writhed _ , overwhelmed by the feeling. His entire body on fire and tingling and he had never felt this desperate. He had never needed the way he did, right then. Pins and needles spreading out over his entire body, his cock twitching and leaking where it was laid up against his stomach. And he cried out again, loud and broken, when he curled his fingers experimentally. 

He shifted, bending his knees and planting his feet on the bed. Spreading his legs apart until it almost hurt, rocking his hips down against his fingers and white hot bolts of pleasure rocked up his spine. As he thrust his fingers deeper into himself, he saw another flash of those beautiful eyes and he sobbed. Tears stinging the backs of his eyes as his hips pushed down to fuck himself more insistently on his fingers. 

He kept curling his fingers, stretching himself out in a way he’d never experienced before and he released the headboard suddenly as he saw the hint of a smile to go with those eyes, in his head. He scratched his dull nails over his chest, pinching and tugging at one of his nipples. He absolutely writhed under his own hands, back arching off the bed. He kept going, fucking himself more and more insistently because the faster and deeper he went, the clearer that face in his head got and the more intense that pressure in his groin felt.

“Oh shit, please.” He gasped out into the empty room, rocking desperately into his hand and pinching at his nipple as he clamped his eyes shut so harshly it almost hurt as he tried to clutch at that face. Trying to see it clearly.

_ “Richie.” _ He heard it whispered into his ear as if someone were there with him. Clear as day and yet still not clear enough to place how he knew it.

Even still, it was enough. Richie tugged harshly at his nipple, and his fingers curled inside of him and that tension deep in his belly broke.

Richie was loud, by nature. He’d been loud through all of this, in fact. Breathy little noises, moaning and whining and crying out. But as his orgasm moved through him, fast and hard and so fucking good, Richie went silent. Mouth open like he was moaning, head tilting back and back arching off the bed. Tears slipping down to his temples from under closed eyes. He felt his toes curl into the duvet, his ass clenching around his fingers and it felt so much better than any other orgasm he’d ever had.

And that was just backed up by the fact that he could feel his release land up on his chest, his throat where he left it exposed. 

He wasn’t sure how long it took for him to come down from that feeling, for the intensity of it all to fade enough for his feet to slip down until his legs were straight. He winced as he pulled his fingers out of himself, inhaling sharply with a whiny noise as he clenched around nothing, like he was desperate to be filled back up. He struggled for breath, eyes opening slowly until he could stare without focus up at the ceiling.

“I miss you.” Richie whispered into the stagnant air, tears still in his eyes. 

And that ever growing emptiness just pulsed and consumed him a little more, because he hadn’t the faintest idea who he was talking to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I don't actively mention him, but it's important that you know Stan is alive and here. 
> 
> Please enjoy chapter two and thank you very much to my lovely Beta~

That was far from the last time Richie had used an orgasm to cope with a bad day. But, as he got older, his ‘bad days’ turned into a bad life. Staying up late because he didn’t want to wake up the next morning, needing a shot - and not always of liquor - before he could make himself get up on stage to spout off the meaningless crap he was fed by people with more power over his career than he had. And sometimes, the liquor and the drugs and the random people he would go home with and forget in the morning just didn’t hit the same way his own touch, did. 

He had already known that sometimes, getting off was going to be better than drugs or alcohol. The natural rush of endorphins that came from an orgasm felt so much  _ better, _ most of the time. But no one else had ever been able to get his body to react the way he could do to himself. No woman - or the few men he had started crawling into bed with over the past few years - had ever lit him on fire and made him need the way he could for himself. No one made him writhe and moan and fall apart like he did when he used his own hands.

Or maybe it wasn’t accurate to say he was doing it to himself. It was those damn eyes in his head.

Every time, every single time that Richie wrapped a hand around his cock, he was searching for those eyes. Desperate to see warm brown, bright and eager. Desperate to see that mouth, hear that vague voice in his ear. It was pathetic, he knew. He was very well aware of the fact that it was crazy and pathetic and having a fucking imaginary boyfriend in his head was too much. But it was the only thing that could get him going that easily. The only thing that could rock his world, make him want to keep going for even the briefest moment. And he had kept searching for it, the same way he searched out another high. Another hit, another shot.

It had started with just repeating what he had done that first time. Sucking on his fingers, desperately and eagerly. Fucking himself on those same fingers, rocking down onto his hand, eyes clamped shut as he tried to grab onto those fleeting images. But it didn’t take long before that wasn’t enough. Before just getting himself off wasn’t satisfying the nearly painful itch. So he had to find other ways to do it. 

He had started trying new things. He started experimenting with toys, buying vibrators and plugs and nipple clamps. He latched onto anything and everything that might give him even the slightest relief, showed him even the barest hint of those beautiful brown eyes. Kept going and going until this endless search permeated his entire life. Until it was everywhere. Moments in his everyday life where he would feel more than he saw those eyes and he would grab onto it, cling to whatever had happened to trigger it.

Standing in his bedroom in the hours before another show he didn’t want to do, he had pulled on a plaid over shirt. The sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an obnoxious graphic tee shirt on, underneath, and he could almost hear someone say he looked good and his heart jumped up into his throat. His chest tightened up, his stomach twisting and turning as he struggled to catch his breath. So he kept doing it, bought enough of those stupid shirts that he was certain the young cashier thought he was crazy.

Walking past a stand at the mall and being completely overwhelmed by the scent of sage and lavender, the tang of ocean salt making him almost sob because it was the clearest he’d seen those eyes since the first time he’d pressed his fingers deep into himself. Warm and familiar, and he had nearly crashed right into the poor family in front of him as vague flashes that he couldn’t make sense of shot through his head, too quick to grab onto. He had bought the biggest bottle available, would spray a little on his pillow at night when he was desperate to feel something. Pressing his face into his pillow as he drove a toy deep into himself, feeling that comfort washing over him for just a few moments.

An almost memory when he would neglect changing his hand towel in his bathroom of a voice yelling at him about bacteria. A sad smile in his head when he would reach for the blade he kept in his bedside table that would almost always be enough to make him curse and throw the knife back into the drawer. Bright and eager eyes when he did something stupid and he spilled his drink or dropped whatever was in his hands. And every time, he’d get that rush of absolute euphoria, like a high coursing through his system. Making his head light and his heart race and heat surge through him until it burst out across his skin, until it faded and he was left feeling even more empty than he had before.

An addict searching for his next fix. 

And that fix came in the form of a phone call from a name he had forgotten. Crashing over him as memories broke the surface, his entire body lurching and it was too much all at once. He had needed to throw up, needed to do something to relieve the churning in his gut.

The memories that floated up to the surface most aggressively, though, were memories of his best friend. A boy he had fallen in love with before he even knew what it meant, who he had followed around like a dog eager for attention. Reaching for him but never quite able to make contact. A boy who had always been the center of his entire world and Richie had always been terrified of that. And even now, over twenty years since he last saw him, Richie felt that fear grip his bones and hold on so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

The trip to Derry was mostly a blur. Hell, everything since getting the phone call was a bit of a blur. Somehow taking a thousand years and just a handful of seconds. And suddenly, the water in his ears drained and his vision refocused and he was sitting in the parking lot of the Jade of the Orient with his stomach churning and he wasn’t entirely convinced his head was actually attached to his body. White knuckling the steering wheel, watching people walking through the parking lot towards or away from the entrance. 

“...Fuck.” He breathed out, realizing too late his hands were trembling on the steering wheel.

It took another few moments for Richie to build up the nerve to even get out of the car, and even then it was only because he saw a familiar head of bright red hair and the anxiety was quelled by the overwhelming ache in his chest that came from years of missing someone and having the chance to see them again. Drawn to her and the handsome man she was walking up to like a moth to a flame, desperate to ease that ache in his chest. 

It took a hot second to realize that the - frankly  _ sexy _ \- man Beverly was speaking to was Ben. But there was no denying that softness in his eyes, the sweetness of his smile. The careful way he held Bev as he hugged her, the eagerness on his face as he looked at her. And there was so much rushing through Richie’s head. So many questions and half thoughts he couldn’t fill out. So many emotions he didn’t even have names for, realizations and regrets and everything in between. Relief washing through him the same way it did when he had a good hit, the realization that this was fucking  _ real _ . He had friends, people who he had loved and who had loved him in return. 

So naturally, when he opened his mouth, he had no control over what stupid joke came out.

“Well you two look amazing. What the fuck happened to me?” 

Richie couldn’t help the smile on his face as Bev threw her arms around him. He returned the hug, arms wrapped around her waist and picking her up until she was on her tiptoes and she laughed into his neck. Richie lingered in that hug for a moment, a bit of the heaviness in him that he barely noticed was there, anymore, finally starting to lift as he held his old friend close. He squeezed her gently before releasing her, making sure she was firmly back on her feet. Then he turned to Ben with a bright smile and held his arms open.

The beaming smile he got in return, sweet and genuine and exactly like Richie suddenly remembered it, made something like butterflies erupt in Richie’s stomach. He laughed at Ben threw himself at him with even more vigor than Bev had, holding onto him tightly. They were more or less the same height, but Richie felt ridiculously small. Enveloped entirely by him and Richie couldn’t help but laugh as he returned the hug. Ben squeezed him tightly, almost enough to hurt, and some more of that heaviness faded away. 

“It’s so good to see you, Richie!” He said, and his voice was a deep rumble that vibrated in Richie’s chest and made him smile even wider. 

“Yeah, yeah good to see you too, now get the fuck off me you’re making me question my masculinity!” Richie answered, voice easy and light. 

Ben laughed as he offered one last squeeze before releasing him, hands lingering on Richie’s shoulders as he stepped away. Beverly tilted her head, grinning at him the same way she did when they were kids.

“Not a whole lot to question, Rich.” She said. Richie placed a hand over his heart, wincing dramatically.

“Ooh. You wound me, Marsh.” He said. 

Bev laughed, and she wound her arm around his waist as she started on guiding him towards the door. He let her bring him inside, Ben following along, and they made their way towards the back table where the hostess said their party was waiting. Richie grinned, lighting up with excitement when he saw the gong. And Bev must have seen the look in his eyes because she laughed and shoved him towards it. The same childish glee they would get as kids when they did stupid things. 

“This meeting of the Loser’s Club has officially begun!” He announced as he hit the gong. 

The others turned to look at him, and Richie’s eyes easily found Eddie. Just like they always had, drawn to him even after two decades apart. And what he found there made his heart shoot up into his throat and he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear the others all talking, couldn’t see anything but Eddie. Couldn’t see anything but his eyes.

Brown eyes. Warm and bright. Every single orgasm Richie had experienced since he was twenty-six fucking years old flashed through his mind in a horrible slideshow because every single time, those eyes had been bright in his head. Every single time, he’d been desperately hoping to see those eyes again, to see that almost there face in his mind that always made him feel like he might actually belong, somewhere. An odd and frankly jarring mix of horror and arousal shot through Richie, which made sense in a way. His body was used to it, was trained to get hard whenever he saw those eyes because it had been the only thing to really get him going for years. 

For a moment, Richie thought he was going to have to rush to the bathrooms so he could throw up, dizzy from the sudden rush of blood to his dick and his stomach churning harshly. And then Eddie smiled at him, excited and eager and everything in Richie settled. The nausea calmed and his heart returned back to its rightful place in his chest, though it certainly didn’t stop pounding so hard he was certain the others heard it. 

Richie started towards him, ignoring the white noise in his head and moving without having to think about it. Automatically going to Eddie, drawn to him as if no time had passed between them. Like he was the same, scared teenager who wanted so badly to be in Eddie’s orbit. And the way Eddie stepped up towards him and opened his arms with a smile made Richie’s heart clench in his chest. Richie closed the distance between them with no hesitation, Eddie meeting him halfway so they could wrap their arms around one another.

Richie pressed his face into Eddie’s neck and was overwhelmed by the scent of sage and lavender, the barest hint of ocean salt. Arousal rocked through Richie, and he nearly moaned out loud. Because just over twenty-four hours ago, he had pressed his face into his pillow, drowning in this same scent as he buried a vibrating plug into himself. Except now it was completely enveloping him, was so much better because it was mixed with the natural scent of Eddie’s sweat and Richie wanted to drop to his knees then and there, beg to get his mouth on him. 

He couldn’t do that, though. Aside from the obvious reason of being in the middle of a very public restaurant, there was also the fact that Richie had known since he was a child that Eddie would never love him the way he loved Eddie. And he had learned to accept that, years ago when he had still been just learning what it all meant. Had accepted that Eddie would never want him around the same time he learned what the word ‘faggot’ meant. But now? An adult, painfully lonely and having been getting off to him for literal years, even if he hadn’t realized it? The knowledge that he didn’t get to have this just clenched at his chest and made him want to sob just as badly as he wanted to touch. 

He did linger in the hug for a long moment, though. Squeezing Eddie tight to him, not quite ready to let him go. He felt more than he heard Eddie laugh into his neck, returning the gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, yeah against my better judgement, I missed you too, Richie.” He said, and Richie almost moaned, again. Heat surging down his spine as he remembered every time he had almost heard his name whispered into his ear while he was alone. 

Finally, Richie loosened his hold and let Eddie step back. Though his hands lingered on Eddie’s shoulders as he smiled at him. Beaming at him, and he was partially convinced his chest was going to fucking implode because Eddie was smiling back at him. For a brief moment, it felt almost like the past however many years had been real, had been more than just him, pathetic and alone and getting himself off to a face he thought he had made up. 

Richie was dragged back into reality when Mike crashed into him and wrapped him up in an even more enveloping hug than Ben had. Richie laughed, and he easily returned that hug, falling right back into the flow of having friends as if he had been here his entire life.

* * *

The night didn’t get easier.

It wasn’t bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. At least not at first. The seven of them sat around a table, passed food around and drank. Told jokes and told everyone about their lives. Eddie sat beside Richie, their knees knocking together every so often and no one seemed to notice when Richie would grab his shoulder or knock into him. Anything to be close to him, leaning in too much to speak to him, dramatically whispering things to him like they were big secrets in the hope that he would catch a scent of that cologne.

And then Eddie dropped his ‘married’ bomb. 

Richie’s chest tightened up painfully, like he was being crushed, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe. His stomach churned so harshly he had to excuse himself, saying something about ‘I’ve gotta’ piss but we’ll return to that fuckery in a minute.’ He did his best not to run, tried to keep a natural pace until he knew they couldn’t see him before he hurried up and crashed through the men’s room door. He had never liked throwing up in public restrooms, despite how often he had to do it, but he couldn’t deny that at least this one was fairly clean. 

So he threw up, and he rinsed his mouth out in the sink. That heavy emptiness that had been all encompassing for the past decade or two seemed to come back all at once and he took a slow, deep breath. The only way he knew how to deal with this was to keep drinking, so that’s exactly what he was going to do. 

He stopped by the bar on his way back to the table, bringing back a small tray with seven shots. One for each of them, though he planned on drinking much more than his one. When he sat back down at the table, he went right for his shot. Downing it easily - no hands, as per Beverly’s earlier request to see him do a blow job shot, and he might have been crushed inside at the moment but he was loathe to disappoint her. - before even looking at Eddie. 

And he went right back into what he had always done when his heart ached too much to handle. He joked, he pushed buttons. Crossed lines and kept drinking as he did it. Built up layer after layer of protective carelessness in the hopes of hiding how much he wanted to break down. Wielding humor like a shield and crassness like a sword in the hopes of no one realizing how destroyed he was inside. 

Richie had never liked people seeing him cry, anyway.

Even with the heart break, though, there was still plenty of bone deep contentment in being able to sit there with his old friends. Laughing, joking, making fools of themselves. It felt as if no time had passed, like this was just a weekly hang out they did on the regular, like they were still those same kids who had bonded together during the most formative summer of their lives. It was still easier to laugh and smile and feel good than it had been in decades.

And then shit got weird. 

Monsters coming out of fortune cookies, a waitress who was uncomfortably okay with their insanity, a kid who spouted out something Richie wasn’t entirely positive was actually part of any of his bits. Remembering they had no real choice but to go kill some sewer clown despite how Richie didn’t want to deal with that bullshit, again. He hadn’t wanted to deal with it the  _ first _ time. 

But that face Mike made, and the idea of spending this time with his friends. The fear that if he just up and left, again, then he would forget them all like he had the first time. It was enough for him to sigh and agree to wait until morning, to think about it. He had the distinct feeling that he was going to end up staying. 

Against his better judgement, of course.

Richie sighed, pressing his forehead against the door to his room back at the Town house, his hand gripping to door knob too tightly. How had this become his life? And why was it still somehow better than the idea of going back to his empty apartment in LA as he prepared for another show he didn’t want to do? He clamped his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing, trying to get a nice, deep inhale. 

“Richie.” Eddie’s voice broke him from his breathing exercises and Richie’s head snapped back up, so quickly he was dizzy for a moment. He turned his head to find the source, his hand still with a vice grip on the door handle. He knew it was Eddie, so he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see him there. 

“You good?” Eddie asked him, examining him. Richie blinked.

“Fucking peachy, Spagheds. I’m really into this whole murder clown bullshit.” Richie answered immediately, that odd mix of honest and hiding behind his humor. Eddie looked unimpressed, licking his lips and Richie couldn’t help but follow the movement of his tongue even despite the heaviness of the past hour weighing down on him. 

Eddie finally sighed and he nodded once, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I know it’s been a long time,” He said. “But you can come talk to me if you need to.” He said. A bit of the tension drained out of Richie’s shoulders, and he couldn’t help the small, soft smile that tugged at his lips.

“I know.” He said. 

Eddie lingered there another moment - perhaps a moment too long - then gave an awkward little head nod and an even more awkward little wave before turning to head further down the hall to his own room. Richie watched him go, something heavy and unpleasant settling in his chest. His shoulders dropped once he saw that door close behind Eddie, and he turned to enter his own room. 

For too long, Richie simply stood just inside his door, staring at the room. A queen bed with his bag still laying on it, a chair that seemed more ornamental than comfortable, a bedside table with an ornate lamp. It seemed so perfectly normal, and for some reason, that was why he felt so unnerved so suddenly. This perfectly ordinary room in a perfectly ordinary bed and breakfast that happened to be in a very unordinary town. Panic gripped tightly at Richie chest, and it felt like every organ in his body was being twisted up. 

Well. He had learned long ago there was no better way to relieve some stress than to have an orgasm. 

Because underneath all the panic and stress and  _ fear, _ his body was still on fire with the memory of Eddie’s arms around him. The way their shoulders had knocked together, the sound of his laugh, the way he had smiled at him. Those eyes, as warm and loving as they had been in Richie’s head for years but so much clearer, finally real and in front of him. The smell of his cologne, finally just right after all this time because it was coming from Eddie and not out of a bottle. 

It was probably fucked up, and probably said something about Richie that he didn’t want to analyze, but that arousal was still burning deep under his skin and he was much more comfortable dealing with that than dealing with the homicidal clown living in the sewers under Derry.

He made it across the room in three long strides, grabbing for his bag with shaking hands. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly too dry, and he shoved his hand into one of the side pockets. He felt his heart rate skyrocket as his hand closed around the glass bottle of cologne. The same cologne he knew Eddie had in his own bag. Richie wasn’t even entirely sure why he had brought it, he never actually wore it. He would spray it on his pillow when he needed something to help him sleep or needed something extra to actually get off. Something had always felt off about wearing it. This wasn’t his cologne, it wasn’t supposed to be on him.

That had felt stupid, before he remembered it was the cologne Eddie had been wearing since he was fifteen. Before he remembered it  _ wasn’t _ his to wear. And something about the fact that even all these years later, it was still the cologne Eddie used, made Richie let out a little whining noise as he lifted up that bottle and pressed it to his lips. It felt wrong, now. Suddenly felt dirty in the worst way to be grabbing for this cologne when it wasn’t just a weird kink, anymore. It was so much more, now, because he knew exactly why he was drawn to this scent and he felt like an awful friend for clinging to the idea of Eddie while he got himself off. Eddie was married, it was wrong and definitely crossed at least a handful of lines. 

But knowing that didn’t lessen the heat coursing through him. Didn’t make him any less hard. Didn’t keep him from watching Eddie’s lips all night, or keep him from making that stupid arm wrestling match last longer than it needed to strictly so he could keep holding Eddie’s hand. 

Now that he thought about it, had he even been wearing a ring?

Richie dragged his bag off the bed to dump it on the floor, that bottle still pressed to his lips reverently, like it was something holy. Like the idea of letting go was unforgivable. He kicked his shoes off gracelessly, all but collapsing down onto the bed. He tried to scoot back towards the pillows as he pulled the cover off the cologne with shaking hands. He pressed the nozzle under his nose, inhaling deeply. It wasn’t quite right, anymore. Not that it ever had been, of course, but now it was so much more obvious because he remembered what it should smell like. The slightest shift in the scent because it was on Eddie’s skin. 

But even still, a harsh shock of arousal shot down his spine, making his toes curl and he let out a pathetic little whine. And those eyes weren’t just eyes, anymore. He had a full face, a full person, in his head. Eddie’s smile, Eddie’s laugh, Eddie’s touch. The bone deep warmth that came with his presence, the memories of scrambling after him to chase that lightness in his chest. Too young to really understand it and too scared to  _ try _ to understand.

“Eddie.” He breathed out, and something heavy but so fucking  _ right  _ settled in his gut and he felt tears sting the backs of his eyes as his cock throbbed in his jeans. 

Richie swallowed thickly, turning enough to spray some of that cologne onto the pillow. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned in towards it and inhaled deeply without really thinking about it. He lingered there a moment, then reached to carefully place the bottle on the bedside table. He placed his glasses there, too, then laid back against the pillow. Eyes shutting again, head tilting to the side to press into the pillow, just enough so he could breathe in slowly and be surrounded by that scent. And there was something terrifying about the fact that it wasn’t a vague set of hazy eyes in his head, anymore. Something so frightening in knowing exactly who he was seeing, in being able to remember a voice, a touch, a name. He knew exactly who he was thinking about as his hand moved to grip at his cock through his pants and that terrified him. 

It  _ hurt _ . 

It was worse, in a way. Because Eddie had never been his, he never would be. Richie had been standing to the side, desperately reaching for him but never able to grab on since he was a child. At least before, that imaginary vision in his head had been all his, something he wouldn’t have to give up when the fantasy was over. When it was nothing more than some made up idea of a person in his head, he could hold on even when he wasn’t drowning in arousal, could hold it close and keep it for himself. He couldn’t do that with Eddie, certainly not now that he was a married man. 

Richie didn’t get to have him. And it made tears leak from his eyes even as he rocked up into his hand. 

It was hard to focus on the heartbreak when his cock was still hard, though. When his entire body was still on fire, tingling and desperate for touch. He roughly pulled the button on his jeans open, lifting his hips to gracelessly shove his pants down. He spit on his palm, and it was crude and a little gross but it was also quick and enough to get him a slick grip on his cock. As he wrapped that hand around his dick, he shoved two of his fingers from his other hand past his lips with a low groan.

It was...well, it was kind of raunchy. Rough, his jeans around his thighs and his fingers shoved in his mouth. Cock throbbing in his hand as he thought about the way Eddie had smiled at him earlier. All of it so much more intense than normal because he had those memories back. He knew what Eddie sounded like when he said his name and the way his eyes brightened up when he smiled. He knew how it felt to hold Eddie in his arms because he had done it just a handful of hours ago. He groaned around his fingers, sucking at them as if he were sucking at Eddie’s cock. Trying to imagine him with his cheeks flushed and eyes lidded, pupils blown. 

And the image was vivid, so fucking vivid and it made everything crash over him just so much more intensely. Rocking up into his own grip, fingers fucking into his mouth so harshly he was choking on them and that just made his cock twitch in his hand and his ass clench around nothing. It was going to be quick, he already knew that. Having the fresh memory in his head, the smell of Eddie’s cologne around him and the knowledge that this man he’d been in love with for his whole life was just down the hall from him. He was already wound tight and overwhelmed and he could feel the spit drooling around his fingers and down his chin.  _ Filthy.  _

He let out a sob, the tears streaming down the side of his face as he thrust up harshly into his hand. Back arching, head tilting back and his toes curling into the bed under him. Already, he was close, so close. The stress and the memories and  _ Eddie  _ making everything coil up tighter and tighter faster than he had ever experienced before. 

And then, there was a sharp knocking at his door. Richie knew who it was, of course he knew who it was because Eddie had always had a very specific way of knocking. Richie knew it was Eddie because there were two knocks, a brief pause, then two more, as opposed to the typical three knocks most people gave. He didn’t realize he knew this, the memory of knowing this obscure detail buried under everything else he had remembered but dragged to the surface when the became necessary. 

Even still, when Eddie called out ‘Hey Richie?’ through the door, that tightness deep in Richie’s stomach snapped all at once and he inhaled sharply and his voice left him. Going silent as he came, fingers curling in his mouth and thighs twitching as he rocked into his hand through his orgasm. 

He gasped for breath, slowly stroking along his cock even after he had been spent, writhing under his own hand as the touch hit just the right side of painful. He swallowed thickly, hand falling from his mouth, going lax on the bed.

And then that knock came again Richie jerked, tensed up. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, struggling to sit up. 

“Gimme’ a sec.” He called out, voice uneven and cracking towards the end. He winced at the sound of it. 

He rushed through trying to clean himself up, dragging his soiled shirt off and shoving it into his bag. His knees were shaky, and he felt dizzy but he couldn’t leave Eddie out there for much longer. He pulled on a clean shirt, shoving his glasses unceremoniously onto his face before pulling the door open.

For a thirty second clean up immediately after an orgasm, he figured he looked pretty okay.

Eddie had his hand up, ready to knock again. He blinked, his brows furrowing as he examined Richie. Taking in the flushed cheeks and red eyes. He opened his mouth, then seemed to think twice and he just shook his head before holding his other hand up. His fingers were wrapped around the neck of a bottle. Fireball whiskey. 

“...For old time’s sake?” Eddie asked, gesturing with his head to the bottle. “Since we’re probably going to fucking die, tomorrow?”

Suddenly, his head was overrun with memories of sitting in the dark with Eddie as teenagers, sharing stolen bottles of fireball between them. Talking about everything and anything, sitting too close and how many times had Richie actively resisted the urge to kiss him? And he realized, suddenly, this must be why fireball was his go to ‘feel better’ drink. 

It made him think of Eddie.

Richie swallowed thickly, then offered a weak grin and stepped to the side so Eddie could come in.


End file.
